Never Grow Up
by Lindsey Grissom
Summary: A little ficlet set in the same universe as Beyond The Sea. In the middle of the night, Head Housemaid Elsie Hughes stumbles on an unexpected guest in the Butler's pantry and a tradition is born.


**A/N: **And here's my first offshoot from Beyond The Sea. This is based on something mentioned in drabble 15 (_an ending_) but is *not* a death-fic (sorry deeedeee, I didn't even _think_) and does, I think, standalone okay too. Please enjoy. Oh! And the story mentioned is real and should be googled. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>_Never Grow Up_<strong>

The thought niggles at the back of her mind, keeping her from sleep tonight.

The worst of it is that she doesn't know _what _the thought is, only that she feels she is missing something. Or perhaps is forgetting something. Or should be doing something.

It's frustrating beyond measure and that alone would keep her awake at this point, never mind the persistent niggle.

Eventually, with a heavy sigh she kicks off the blankets and sheets and slips out of bed.

As Head Housemaid she has the luxury of a room to herself, at least until their new maid starts in a week. Elsie picked Anna Smith herself; Mrs Whitely starting to hand some of those decisions off now that she is seriously considering retirement.

But for now as she wraps her dressing gown around her, she doesn't have to worry that this sudden bout of insomnia is disturbing anyone's rest but her own.

Turning the key in the separating door, she balances on one foot to avoid putting her weight on the creaky floorboard.

Her footsteps are light down the stairs and she blows at the strands of hair that fall loose from her braid and into her face.

She'll help herself to a glass of milk, warmed if she can risk it and then try to sleep again. In the meantime, she'll do a quick check of all the places she has been working down here today, just in case she left some open polish drying out or the smoothing iron on the stove.

She has never in her life done either before, but the niggling is still there.

The stove checked and dismissed, she settles a pan on it and pours in a little milk.

It's as she passes the Butler's pantry on the way to the storeroom that she spots movement through the partially opened door.

She heard Mr Carson's distinct tread on the stairs an hour or so ago and she doubts that he would have given permission for anyone to use his pantry after he retired for the night.

Pushing against the door, the niggling increases and then stops when her eyes rest on the small figure curled up on the floor.

Careful not to disturb the young Lady, Elsie creeps back to the kitchen and adds a little more milk, stirring until she can see steam rising from the surface.

She fills two cups and clasps them by the handles, making sure to put out the stove, just in case.

Bumping the pantry door open fully with her hip, she meets Miss Mary's eyes with a small smile.

"Just a little warm milk, Miss."

The girl accepts the cup with a nod, but does not rise from the floor. Unsure what else to do, Elsie settles into the chair closest the young Lady.

She isn't sure how to take Mary Crawley on the best of days. Miss Edith she understands; she appreciates her polite and quiet demeanour, fears that she will forever be the punch line to her sister's jokes. And there is not a member of the staff who has not fallen under Miss Sybil's spell. The small child has even Mrs Bird wrapped around her wee fingers.

But the soon to be considered _Lady_ Mary seems to have only Mr Carson's affections below stairs. Elsie too often finds the girl arrogant and demanding, but she tries for her friend's sake to look deeper. Mr Carson does not give his consideration to many people and so she believes there must be something there that she has yet to witness.

"Where's Carson?"

Elsie jumps at the question, spilling a little of the milk onto her hand. Raising it to her mouth to suck it away, she looks down. Miss Mary hasn't turned from the cold fireplace.

"Asleep I would imagine, Miss."

The silence settles again while she sips at her milk.

It isn't her place to ask the girl why she's here, why she hasn't gone to her parents if she cannot sleep, or Nanny even if she is getting too old for her now.

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss, how did you get in here?" If Mr Carson left his pantry unlocked he will be horrified.

"Carson gave me a key to this room years ago so that I could come here to read my lessons when Edith was being particularly tiresome." And when she needs a safe harbour, no doubt.

Elsie blinks quickly, heart clenching; this is the side of Mr Carson she saw that first Christmas, that told her he might be worth the way her breath quickens and her heart pounds when she sees him. That he could be a very dear friend in time, if he can never be anything more.

"That was very kind of him." The girl nods, her nose slightly raised in the air so reminiscent of the man in question.

Elsie is suddenly very aware of the scent of him surrounding her, that she is sitting in his chair, in his pantry in her nightgown.

She shakes away the thought before her mind takes it any further.

"Edith says you tell her stories."

"I do, when she asks for them, Miss. Miss Sybil too, when she has escaped Nanny again."

She hides her smile behind her cup, Miss Mary shifts, pressing her back tentatively against Elsie's legs.

"What kinds of stories do you tell, Miss Hughes?"

That name has stuck with the family and most of the staff, picked up from Mr Carson's apparent inability to call her anything else, no matter that she isn't a Ladiesmaid.

"Magic stories, milady. Tales from home."

Another moment of silence as the girl finishes her milk and sets it aside, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.

"I think perhaps I ought to hear these stories, Miss Hughes, to be sure they are appropriate for my sisters."

And that is the tone that usually has Elsie silently spitting feathers at the cheek of it. Tonight however, she has an idea what the girl is after and finds herself barely holding back a laugh. One day, Lady Mary will make a formidable manipulator, but she is not there yet.

"As you wish, Miss."

"I do, Miss Hughes, please begin."

Elsie shakes her head and drains the last of her milk. Setting it down on the table she sinks deeper into the chair, careful to keep her legs still.

"Very well, I'll tell you the story of the farmer's wife of Deloraine, one of Miss Sybil's favourites.

"You must first understand that in the lowlands of Scotland during the day, a tinker or tailor and their apprentices would often visit the local farm for their meals..."

She starts, thickening her accent, continuing on through the tale of magical milk supplies and the unthinking actions of the apprentice.

When she finishes, Miss Mary's head rests on Elsie's lap, her eyes closed and her breathing even.

With a smile, she dares to brush her hand across the girl's hair, smoothing it back from her face.

She will let her rest a while longer and then send her back to bed before the cook comes down to start the baking.

-e.h-

She doesn't tell Mr Carson of his missed guest and isn't surprised when Miss Mary doesn't either.

When the niggling thought keeps her awake again two weeks later, she slips quietly passed the sleeping Anna and heads for the kitchen.

Handing off a cup to Miss Mary, she settles into Mr Carson's chair and begins another tale.

The girl curls around her legs and falls asleep before she is even halfway through.

**_End._**


End file.
